Page 71 of Never the Roses

Conversation done for the time being, they didn’t speak again except in incoherent sighs and murmurs, as the sun rose, painting the crystal dome a blazing gold.

Oneira could have stayed there with him, in that bubble of intimacy, forever. Like all things, however, their idyll came to an end.

They finally arose and took on the small tasks of bathing and dressing, easing into the greater demands the day would bring. She made a shirt for him from the Dream, resisting the urge to color it with dream images, instead making it a somber gray.

She came into the kitchen with it to find Stearanos grilling pancakes, liberally sharing them with both Bunny and Moriah, who sat on their haunches snatching the tidbits he tossed them out of midair, as if they were house pets instead of immortal magical creatures. He made a syrup of honey, drizzling it over fresh berries he’d gathered while she was bathing, and they ate in the garden, talking of nothing important—flowers, the weather, books.

At last, their plates empty but for sticky residue, he stood. “I’ll wash up and then I’m afraid I must go.”

“No, you cooked. I’ll wash.” She stood, too. “I’ll walk you down.”

“Do me a favor?” he asked. “Wait up here. I have this image in my mind of you standing on the cliff’s edge and watching me go.”

She cocked her head. “When I first visited your library, I never imagined you would be a romantic.”

Sweeping her up in his arms, he kissed her thoroughly, leaving her breathless, body aching with desire, heart sweetly raw. “It’s your fault,” he informed her seriously. “You have bewitched me, sorceress, body and soul, and I’m in love with you.”

She froze and he laughed, bestowing a kiss on her nose and releasing her.

“You don’t have to say the words, Oneira. It’s enough—more than enough—all you’ve given me. Once we’ve stopped this war, I’ll be back to visit, as often as you’ll allow. And you can come to my home. I’d love to show you my garden. After this is over, we’ll have all the time in the world.”

“For the first time, having a long life sounds like something I actually want,” she admitted.

He smiled, briefly, a thin slice of wonderment. “I know what you mean. In the meanwhile, if you need to make contact, it will be up to you. You can find me, you said, anytime, anywhere.”

“Yes, though it may not be safe for me to come to you physically, even via the Dream.”

“Then talk to me in my dreams.”

“Stearanos, I don’t think…”

“Please. I’m asking.” His lips quirked teasingly. “I need to hear from you. Or you can leave a note.”

“That led to trouble before,” she reminded him, aware she was holding on to him, fingers curled into his shirt, her body unwilling to let him go no matter how she told herself she must.

“That led to this.” He kissed her again, as if demonstrating, deeply, passionately, filling his hands with her hair, seeming to be savoring her for the time of privation to come. “I regret nothing,” he said against her lips, then showered her face with kisses. “Between us, that is,” he added, finally lifting his head, gaze roving over her face with sober reflection. “You’re right—I should never have let this war planning go so far. I didn’t have to construct such a devastating strategy.”

“I suspect it’s not in you to do less than your very best,” she replied on a sigh. “Part of your compulsive nature, no doubt.”

He mock growled, hands tightening on her. “I’d take offense if I didn’t know you were the same way.”

“It’s true,” she admitted. “Maybe they know that about us and reinforce it during our educations, ensuring that—even if we hate our clients and their wars—we can’t do less than our utmost for them.”

“Something for you to consider in how you executed your assignment with Govirinda,” he said, his expression grave and compassionate.

She nodded, unconvinced, and also unwilling to evoke the ghosts of that darkness when she still had him in her arms, in the sunlit morning, her belly sweetly full. “If I need to, I’ll contact you via your dreams,” she said, returning to a safer topic.

“Will it be all dream symbolism or will I know it’s you?”

She hesitated, considering that. “You would know that it’s not a normal dream. It would feel especially vivid and memorable, and you would sense my magic, as you did before. But since you’re not an oneiromancer, other than that, I don’t know.”

He frowned. “I’m a sorcerer; I can learn oneiromancy.”

Spreading her hands in disbelief, she gestured widely. “Now? As you’re leaving. You propose to learn an entire branch of sorcery that’s wholly new to you and for which you have no natural inclination.”

“It’s notwhollynew. I learned the principles at academy.”

“Theory only,” she said, not a question.

---